


Legacy

by NixieD



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Bat Family, Death References, Deathfic, Gen, Guns, Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixieD/pseuds/NixieD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of a family member the rest of the batfamily must find someway to move forward, and in doing so pull closer together.</p>
<p>Originally posted as separate stories on LJ, started in 2007 (so long), currently ongoing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forever

**Author's Note:**

> It happens without so little as a whimper.

Maybe it was strange but despite all they’d known, none of them believed it would end like this. Everyone thought he’d go out with a bang, during some heroic battle saving an innocent life, never that one day he’d just suddenly stop showing up.

Initially they were concerned, reports showed a sudden cease in vigilante activity, and a mood began to hang over the city, even the crooks stayed away for the first few nights. Then, as the days passed, crime rates rocketed; his absence being taken as a permanent fixture.

Two weeks and four days after he vanished, he seemingly reappeared, no word to anyone, just swooping down from the skyline and breaking the jaw of some low level drug dealer. At first none of them were sure what to think, reports came in detailing his exploits, and quickly concern and confusion turned to outright anger. Apparently he was up to his old tricks, and all other teams reported the same unusual behaviour in their own personal vigilantes. 

With no word offered to anyone nearly a month after he first disappeared, they made a decision. The following night, Superman found himself hovering over the dark city; eyes shut and face blank, listening. Finally hearing a somewhat familiar heartbeat he shot off, seeming to vanish with his haste, what he saw when he found him was not what he expected.

Floating next to a snarling gargoyle, he stared at the black figure crouched at the very edge of the ledge, another leaning, no lounging against the gargoyle. At first he couldn’t resolve what was in front of him with what he heard. There they were, yet neither looked quite right, as the crouched figure uncurled he saw it, the flash of almost black crimson lining the inside of the cape, swallowing the bat insignia, a red that perfectly matched his partner’s costume, the red that replaced the once vibrant blue.

Hovering in front of the shorter Batman and more sombre Nightwing, he knew without looking that he would not find Robin, he had already graduated. With a solemn look to the silent pair, he turned and left them to their city, and prepared to tell the others what little truth he could.


	2. Usurper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They didn’t have the luxury of time to grieve.

When it happened none of them had been there, and why would they? The mere idea that it would happen like it did was unthinkable, so maybe that was the reason it happened like it did. But within minutes of it all of them had heard, and all of them knew that they couldn’t tell anyone, not yet.

They organised it quickly and quietly, filling in paperwork and making the necessary calls. So it was, on a wet, windy, overcast evening, they buried Bruce Wayne. Stood side by side, they shook hands while trying desperately not to fall apart, a lone figure off to the side failing to do so without the silent support of Alfred behind them.

A few days later, Dick Grayson had signed all needed contracts to finalise the transfer of Wayne Tech to his name, confirming that Lucius Fox would continue running the company as before. Returning to the oddly quiet manor, he slipped down into the cave, coming to a halt behind the hunched figure of Timothy Drake. Scattered before the younger man were various drawing and schematics for a new improved costume, and though he knew eventually anger would come, he felt nothing.

In front of them lay the workings of a new batsuit, and surprisingly a slightly altered Nightwing costume. Once again the only Robin was the empty outfit hanging in the glass case, but now an iconic black figure stood next to it. Together they worked in silence, Alfred wandering down to the cave to offer quiet reassurance and advice, providing them with food and forcing them out and away when shadows seemed to creep too close.

Two weeks later, they faced each other in the eerie quite of the cave, costumes that would have been completely black if it weren’t for the every so dark crimson flashing through them. Eyes burning into one another, shinning with unreleased grief, shadowed with doubt and uncertainty. They never noticed another figure creep up on them until Tim found himself slamming to the ground with a well aimed kick. The figure fell to strike with fists again and again, weeping and screaming, before Dick finally managed to drag him away.

“You traitors! You bastards!” Twisting and tugging in Dick’s firm hold he refused to still.

“Jason. Stop it.” Alfred’s crisp calm tone broke though the all too painful noise, the young man slumping back into Dick, his breath harsh and pounding.

“He’s barely cold in the ground and they’ve replaced him.” Wet blue eyes stared blindly at the still form on the ground. “It’s not right. It’s not right.”

“Nothing about this is right.” They were the first words Tim had spoken since he had answered that fateful phone call. “It’s not right and it’s not fair. If life was then he’d be here right now, but it isn’t, and he’s not coming back!”

Dick slowly let him go, stepping away and padding over to the memorial cases, his voice cracking as he went. “We had to do something; Batman’s bigger than just one man.” His fingers danced in the air, brushing the glass. “Please understand, none of us wanted this…this… But we’re alone now. Ba-Bruce is gone, Barbara’s logged off for good. We couldn’t abandon the mission.”

“Why not? Why the hell should I understand why you’re still doing this despite everything that’s happened?” Jason stood them, face contorted in misery. Hands clawed and fingers bitting into flesh, leaving crimson trails welling on the back on knuckles until smooth black gauntlets enwrapped them.

“You know why, you fought for the same reasons before.” The thick black of the cowl only added to the twisting darkness lying in Tim’s eyes, matching pain reflecting back at Jason. “And if Bruce meant anything to you, you’ll help us.” In the stretching silence a faint glimmer of hope grew in Tim.

* * *

Nearly a fortnight later, Tim and Dick settled atop an anonymous hotel roof, waiting. Only moving when the bright figure of Superman appeared before them, neither offering a word, staring at the godly figure before them, daring him to say something, anything. Those few moments stretched till they felt like hours, until finally, the man of steel flew away. Then with a crackle Jason’s voice sounded over the com.

“Bats, ‘wing, robbery in progress at Gotham Bank. Looks like Penguin’s handiwork.”

The mission was never over, and all Robins eventually grew up.


	3. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t think it would end like this

If you asked him how he thought it would happen, he would have admitted that he’d always thought the Joker or Two Face would have taken him out. The two villains who brought the most pain to him and his family. He didn’t expect to die in some grand battle to save the world, nor to pass away unnoticed in an alley as Bruce Wayne. 

Apparently though, fate had a cruel sense of irony. And so it was, on the anniversary of his parents’ death, placing two roses in the alley next to the old theatre, dressed as Bruce Wayne, he stared down the barrel of a gun. 

Here, in the place where Batman was born, he was going to die. He hadn’t thought to carry any weapons, never considered that he would be unsafe as Bruce, and maybe that was a little naive of him. After all he had seen the random strike of crime in this very alleyway, he should have known even he could suffer it. 

He slowly drew his wallet out, threw it at the shaking man, shocked at seeing his fingers tremble, causing the wallet to fall short. With the bang of the gun cocking he jumped back, heart pounding as he tried to stay calm, voice low and cool, assuring the tweaking gunman. 

Finally he managed to get his fingers to still enough to unsnap his watch, slowly reaching out with it. As the ragged man stepped closer to grab it, he threw himself forward, knocking the man down as a loud crack rang out. 

Eyes wide he stared at the figure beneath him, the gun sliding to a stop against the brick wall, before he was pushed back and away. Sprawled on the ground he raised his hand from his chest, sticky red glimmering on his fingers, the limited light making it appear almost black. His hand fell, fighting for breath, body refusing to move, to prise the cell phone out of his inner pocket. 

All too quickly, all he could see was the soft silver of the moon, limbs heavy, growing colder and colder. His pulse roaring in his ears, lips slowly moving, soundlessly begging those left behind to forgive him, to move on, to find peace. Death slid her arms around him, pulling him away from the cold. 

In those last few moments he felt his mother’s warm arms surround him, his father’s deep voice telling him to rest, that they were proud of him.


	4. Adaption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew the moment he saw the number something was wrong.

Dick Grayson had just thrown off his shirt when the phone began to ring, most of the time he’d have left the machine to catch it, but with a quick glance he froze. The number was oddly familiar, for a few rings he struggled to recall and then it shook itself loose. _Wayne Manor_. He just stood there as the machine clicked to life, Bruce never called using that line, if he called at all, and never to his public number.

He was startled out of immobility as Alfred Pennyworth’s voice came over the line, the usual crisp cultured British accent shivered with emotion. _Master Dick, if you could call the manor when you-_. He didn’t even realise he’d picked up the receiver until he had it right up next to his ear, a shallow breath rushing out. “Alfred, what is it? Is it Bruce?”

 _Master Dick_ , it was wrong to hear the normally controlled voice shake and hesitate, _I…Commissioner Gordon called. An attempted robbery_ , he gripped the handset hard, his knees shivering from the trembling hand clamped between them, or was it his knees causing his hand to tremble. _…a shooting, Master Bruce was…shot_. He felt fuzzy and hot and cold and overly sensitive all at once, his eyes squeezed shut, words sliding past his comprehension. “Alfred?” The low whisper slipping out. _I’m sorry Master Dick_. Then an overwhelming silence as neither could bring themselves to hang up the phone, both sat on opposite ends in different cities, in houses devoid of comfort.

* * *

He’d made good time on the ride back to Gotham, a haphazardly packed bag with him sure to have too many shirts and not nearly enough socks. But he was needed home, there was business to take care of and decisions to be made, along with a will to be dealt with.

Alfred had been ready at the door, pale faced and red rimmed eyes, mouth twitching as he was wrenched forward into shivering arms. The place echoed with their footsteps, seeming to grow louder and louder the further inwards they went, Alfred ushering him into the informal sitting room. 

Big wet blue eyes stared up at him from beneath floppy black hair, a small miserable figure wrapped up in an old afghan on one of the worn settees. Dick hardly recognised him at first, he looked like a tiny bundle of misery, but he was drawn forward to settle beside him and drew Tim close. Not a word was spoken, because there weren’t words for the misery that danced around them, for the helpless echo of unknowing, they were lost, without guidance, orphans once again.

* * *

Eventually Tim and Dick retreated back into his old room, opposite Tim’s official one. Dick propped up against the headboard of the too wide bed, Tim curled like a cat in his lap, shivering on every fifth pass of his fingers through the unusually soft hair.

The weight of words unsaid began to lean harder on him, pushing for something to be done to break the dark silence, but what was there to say? How could he offer comfort, when he couldn’t see anything comforting in the entire situation? But they were brothers, they were Robins. They shared something no one else could understand, because no one else had been a sidekick to the Batman, no one else had gone out there night after night without anything but their wits and a few gadgets standing between them and death… well nearly no one else. But Jason wasn’t exactly dropping by on the weekends to play video games.

So he just stared into space, running his fingers rhythmically through Tim’s hair, other hand firmly clasped in Tim’s icy grip. Nothing else but the thrum of their breaths counting down till the manor began to reverberate with the chimes of clocks announcing the hour. Without a word, just soft murmurs of noise he slowly guided Tim under the covers, bereft of the heavy outer layer of clothes.

Lying there face to face wasn’t enough, so he dragged Tim closer, guided his head to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around him. Squeezing perhaps a bit too tightly, burying his nose in his hair and breathing deep, reminding himself with scent and touch that he wasn’t alone. Letting it comfort him, sooth him to sleep.

* * *

He woke as the sun filled the room with shadows, Tim breathing shallowly against him. He clenched his eyes tightly shut, muscles tightening as he fought back the shivers and trembles, eyes burning with an unexpected welling of tears. Every last internal check called back the same thing; there’d been no lone figure standing in the corner last night, no heavy silence wrapping round them, no dark stare keeping watch over him.

A half choked off gasp of pain broke though, and he buried his face in the hollow of Tim’s neck as reality crashed down around him. He hadn’t come last night, and he wasn’t going to be there ever again.

They were orphans again, little lost robins, clinging to one another in search of hope.


	5. Reconfigure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This had never been part of the job description, Robin’s weren’t meant to do this.

The call came in the early hours of Monday morning; he’d only just shrugged off his sweat soaked tunic from a busy weekend with the Titans when the computer alerted him to the manor’s doorbell going off. Not waiting to see if Alfred would get it he began to wriggle out of his tights, slipping one of the spare set of sweats on before ambling up out of the cave.

Bruce’s study was close enough to the main door that it was possible to hear who was at it, but the heavy door muffled a lot of what was said. However Jim Gordon's was never the voice you wanted to hear at this hour. Cracking the door, he slowly slipped through and padded softly towards the entrance way.

Alfred was still in his usual attire as he gestured the Commissioner in, evidently even Bruce wasn’t back yet, not that that unusual considering their work. He could hear the wind howl as Alfred moved to shut it out, for some reason the noise sending a shiver down his spine. Perhaps it was just foreboding of what was to come as shortly after that Gordon spotted him.

Padding slowly over, his apprehensions grew as he quickly began to break down reasons for Gordon’s appearance, none of them good. “Good evening Commissioner, what brings you here at this time?”

Dread began to creep into his bones as Gordon just stared at him, seeming to be trying to gather some courage. All he could think was that something must have happened to Dick, but why would the Commissioner be here, surely they’d send someone from New York. Even as the words began to tumble out of Gordon’s mouth he couldn’t comprehend it.

_There’s no easy was to say this, Bruce was shot earlier tonight. It seems like a blotched robbery._ It couldn’t be true, Bruce was the foundation on which all their lives were built. He jerked as hands came up to grasp his shoulders. _I’m so sorry._ His vision seemed to grow blurrier, his eyes prickly with heat that ran down his cheeks, it took Gordon’s gentle assurances for him to realise he was crying. His next words filling every last inch of him with terror. _I’m… I’m afraid we need you to come and formally identify him._

Somehow Alfred had managed to get him into some semblance of order and down to the morgue where Bruce had been taken. At this point though, he’s lacking the ability to be grateful for it, certain more than anything that he doesn’t want to see whatever is beyond the double doors that the Technician is leading them too.

The guy’s nice enough, he’s got a raspy voice that at any other time would be pleasant, but right now he wants to get out of this cold white and icy steal hell. However Alfred is a firm figure just behind him and that guarantees his acquiescence; he’s come along despite the fact that really it’s just him that’s necessary to deal with this.

He leads them into one of the main rooms, the air slightly chilled as he nods at the detective and coroner waiting, a subtle handoff before he turns to go, offering a slight would-be comforting squeeze to Tim’s shoulder. There’s no gentle way to reveal it, just a twist of a sheet and Bruce is there, lying white and blue, face a pale mask. At some point he manages to confirm it, but he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember the weak, wet whimper that escaped him, or his vision narrowing and knees buckling. He just remembers seeing him, and some how Alfred bundling him home.

And then Dick was there, pulling him close, sharing in the pain of surviving this loss, this rupture of the little family they’d built. His warmth and heartbeat under his ear, proof of life surviving in the growing wave of sudden deaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that at this point in canon Tim had had a lot of people die on him in a rather short period of time.


	6. Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was just watching, waiting… waiting for something, but not this, never this.

Bruce was a creature of habit, might as he try to deny it to everyone else, he knew the truth. He’d been a Robin you see, part of the inner circle if you will, and that meant a deeper look into the psyche of a man psychologists salivated over.

So come today, after noticing the date, he knew Bruce would be heading down to Crime Alley, the place of so many begins and endings. He knew this because Bruce always visited the alley behind the old theatre where it had happened. It, this grand thing that had led to a mission, a mission that darkened pretty much everyone it touched. In some way he understood, this need to revisit the past, but part of him hated the idea that this suffering somehow honoured them.

Trailing along rooftops, obscured in shadows, he watches as Bruce pulls something wrapped in brown paper out of his coat, thick gloves unrolling the paper methodically to unveil two roses. Crouching down to place them against the hard gray concrete. He merely waits as a man stumbles along from the mouth of the alley; taking little notice of one of the ever present beggars gets closer to Bruce. But then he’s there, stood behind him as Bruce stands up, hand drawing out a gun.

Some part of him tries to drive him to dive in but another part wages against it, going on about how Bruce can take care of himself. He just watches as Bruce slowly draws out his wallet, what does it matter anyway, he has more than enough wealth that he won’t feel the little loss. But something dark begins to sink into him as Bruce somehow fumbles the wallet, fingers losing grip and dropping it far from the thief’s hand.

He beings to hover close to the edge of the rooftop as Bruce eventually slides off his watch, arm held out to pass it over. Even before he did it he was moving, jumping down off the ledge as Bruce leapt forward, the sharp crack of the gun going off as they landed together, the weapon sliding away to smack again a brick wall.

Rushing forward he pulled Bruce away onto his back, eyes wide behind his domino mask as he stared at the slowly growing circle of red over his heart. Pressing against it in vain, he pleaded with Bruce, begged him to hold on only to have unseeing eyes stare back at him, warmth draining out him fast in the dead of the cold night.

Pulling him close, he clasped his arms around the fading figure, trying to shield him from the cold, and holding on until sirens drew close. His heart breaking as he drew away from the man he’d once called father, the chance to reconcile once and for all stolen from him.


	7. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon meets the new Batman.

For eighteen days he’d stood on this roof waiting to hear something and on the nineteenth he heard that he was back, returning as mysteriously as he’d vanished. But still the beacon went unanswered.

It was on the twenty-seventh day of standing on that roof, the lit batsignal behind him, that Commissioner Gordon got an answer. With a soft thud the eerie dark figure balanced on the edge of the ledge, perched as if ready to flee at any second. He didn’t need him to stand up; he could tell right away something was wrong. “You’re shorter.” There wasn’t an answer, but then he didn’t expect one; it would only be further proof that things had changed. “We’ve been rounding up as many escapees as possible but there are a few that are still running loose. Reports are saying that the Joker is holed up towards the docks, I thought you might want to be involved.” Still nothing. “I trust you’ll stick to the rules, no surprises?” Just a slight tilt of the head answered him, a thump to the other side of him had him turning to catch sight of Nightwing, spinning back nothing greeted him but the Gotham skyline, the new Batman having faded back into the night. “You distracted me.”

“He’s new at this.” At least this one hadn’t changed, that same easy smile flashed back at him. “Give him a couple of months and he’ll be up to the old man’s standard.” There was a strain under the flippant words, a twist to his smile, all signs that pointed to the truth.

“He’s not coming back, is he?”

“No.”

Sure as he was the news still hit heavy, his head bobbing as he absorbed the blow. The loss of an old friend, a partner, an ally who stood with him rocked him more than he would have thought. He should have been prepared for this, they fought the scum of this city every day and night, at some point one of those freaks would have gotten lucky. “Who?”

It took at little while for the answer, he knew Nightwing was trying to decide what to tell him, surely he didn’t think he was going to take matters into his own hands? “Some nobody punk with a gun.”

The shock was evident in his face and body. “He was just a man. Outside of that suit he was vulnerable.” The kid’s voice wasn’t strong; it was hesitant, afraid of his reaction and it left him with an unpleasant feeling of guilt.

“No one knows?”

“No one really knows what happened, the few who need to know have been clued in to the change over.” Nightwing shifted to sit on the roof ledge rather than crouch on it. “A few of the bigger crooks will probably guess that something’s up, but if we’re lucky, for the most part we’ll keep this under wraps.”

“Make him more than a man.”

Nightwing nodded, eyes shifting to look up at the signal splayed across the clouds in the sky. It took a moment, but he pushed down any reaction to the sight of bright blue eyes no longer hidden behind a shield of white. “He was so much bigger than all of us. We couldn’t just let that die.”

The cane clicked as he moved to stand next to him, one strong hand reaching out to clasp Nightwing’s shoulder. A silent offer of strength and comfort gently received as a firm gloved hand rose to rest over his. “You’d best catch up with him, Batman always worked better with a sidekick.”

Those blue eyes flashed as he smiled, “I’ll see you around.” He twisted up and off, flipping back into a seamless glide off into the city below. Echoes of the same move from years ago flashing in his mind as he watched Nightwing go, the memory of that laughing boy flying next to the tall dark figure they’d both lost.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for my writing style, it's evolving and hopefully improving. Constructive criticism always appreciated.


End file.
